The One With The Truth About Santa
by Jana
Summary: Children believe in him, believe in his existence, will the woman he loves?
1. Introduction

The One With The Truth About Santa

By: Jana~

Introduction

*****

--She knew him all of her adult life. He was easily her best friend, and had been for years; she would believe, without concern or second guesses, anything he told her. 

Until he uttered words totally beyond belief.

She would've thought he was joking, or playing a prank, but the look on his face and the urgency in his tone indicated otherwise. Her mind then wandered to his health. Maybe he had a fever, and was delirious. Or perhaps he hit his head somehow, knocking him silly, warping his sense of reality.

Either way, she was left utterly speechless.

"Say something."

With his request came the realization that she hadn't responded to his statement since he'd made it, several minutes ago.

"I don't know what to say," she admitted, then asked as she reached to touch his forehead, "Have you been feeling sick lately? You know, the flu is going around-"

He caught her hand, stopping her from making contact, and he smiled as he assured her, "I'm not sick."

"Then this is a joke, right?"

He shook his head in response.

She stood, stammering, flustered. "I don't under- This can't possibly be-"

"I know it's hard to understand, but it is **quite real," he told her, finishing her incomplete sentences. "How many years have you known me?" he asked rhetorically. "Have I **ever** lied to you?"**

Starting to pace, she alternated between several anxious actions; hugging herself, wiping her hand across her face, and running her fingers through her hair. She felt lost.

"Is this your way of breaking up with me? Are you trying to go for an insanity defense?"

"No, no," he assured her. "I don't want to break up with you! Just the opposite," he confessed. Confusion and even fear was clearly written into her expression as she looked back at him.

"If you're not looking for a way out, then why are you doing this?" she asked, on the brink of tears.

Slowly, he stood, approaching her carefully. "Please don't cry," he whispered. "I didn't tell you this to upset you. I told you this, because, I love you. I've never loved anyone as much as I love you. And you deserve to know. This is who I am."

"Who you are," she shot back, "Is a scared little boy! If you're too afraid to be in a real relationship, then don't be in one!" She tried to turn away, but he reached out to stop her, wrapping his arms around her.

"Don't do this," he pleaded. "Search your heart," he instructed. "Search your soul. Search my eyes," he added, pulling back and initiating eye contact. "You'll see. You'll know."

At first, she tried to look away, but something caught her attention. Something, deep in his eyes, she never noticed before. She found herself drawn to it, staring into the blue depths intently.

It was as if she was watching a series of home movie clips, playing out in his eyes. The intensity of emotion scared her, and she quickly turned away, stepping away from him; her head was spinning.

"Don't be afraid," he told her. "It's not frightening, it's wonderful. And I can show you, if you want me to."

"Show me **what**?" she asked skeptically.

"The magic of it all," he returned with a smile. "Let me share this with you, Monica," Chandler asked softly. "Let me show you the truth about who I am."

He extended his hand, reaching out for her to take it, smiling reassuringly; he could see her shaking as she cautiously set her hand in his.

The apartment was instantly bathed in a warm glow, with glitters of light flashing around them, before everything but the two of them began swirling, like a whirlpool of watercolors; it was amazing and unnerving, all at the same time…

**TO BE CONTINUED**…

Please review!

MTLBYAKY


	2. Chapter One

The One With The Truth About Santa

By: Jana~

Chapter One

*

--Chandler startled awake, the dream especially vivid this time.  
  
The dream where he finally tells her. He knew his subconscious, or something greater maybe, was trying to send him the message that he needed to confide in her, but every time he tried, he would chicken out.  
  
Catching his breath, he looked down at his sleeping fiancée, kissing her hair lightly before leaving the bed and heading for the kitchen. He would have to leave soon. He would have to tell her.

"Sweetie?" Chandler's attention snapped over to a groggy Monica as she stood in the doorway to their bedroom. "Can't sleep?"

"Umm, no," he answered, stammering slightly. "My throat was dry. I was just getting a glass of water."

"Would you like me to make you some warm milk?" she asked, padding towards him.

Smiling, he wrapped her in a hug when she was within arms reach. "You're so good to me," he whispered. "I love you so much."

"I love you, too," she answered automatically, confused by his early morning, pre-dawn emotion. "You ok? It's just warm milk, ya'know?"

Releasing her, he leaned against the kitchen counter, staring back at her concerned expression. "I'm fine. I'm just, sorta stressed. About something. At the moment."

"Well," she offered as she reached into the fridge to retrieve the milk, "Maybe I can help."

"It's- it's, well, work related."

"Ok," she muttered simply, grabbing a pan to heat the milk, oblivious to the inner struggle going on within her soon-to-be husband's mind. "I don't know much about what you do, but I'm here for you, if you want to vent."

He watched her as she busied herself with the task; she was in her element when she was in the kitchen. "I have to tell, um, a colleague, **something**, that may be hard to hear. To believe. And I'm worried that, if I tell them, they will, want to leave. Quit."

"Well," she asked, "How well do you know this person? Has he been with the company long?"

"Several years, yeah."

"Is he a good guy? A good employee?"

"The best we have."

"So," she suggested, "Just preface the conversation. Tell him that what you have to say is hard. That it's even a bit unbelievable, but you're being honest, and forthright, because you respect him, as a person and as an employee."

"You really think that would work?"

With a shrug, she said, "There are no guarantees, but it couldn't hurt."

He nodded silently as he watched her pour the warm milk into two mugs, then accepted one of them when she offered it to him.

"Is this guy getting demoted or transferred or something?" she asked, but he didn't respond, his thoughts elsewhere. "Chandler?"

His mind jumped back into the present when he heard his name. "Yeah?"

She only stared back, as if studying him. His expression. His mannerisms and stance. "There's something you're not telling me," she stated, as if fact. "This isn't about some co-worker, is it?"

He slowly shook his head, looking guilty. "Monica," he whispered, "We need to talk."

"Oh, God," she breathed, her mug slipping out of her hand, hitting the ground. It shattered in a million shards of stoneware, mixed with steaming milk, but she stood still as stone, not reacting or even flinching to the crashing sound, the mess that was created, or the hot milk that seeped into her socks.

Chandler jumped as the mug hit the floor, and his eyes darted back and forth between the mess and Monica, before locking with hers. He realized, as they stared silently at one another, as if time itself had stopped, what she was thinking.

Walking around the mess, he approached, taking her hand and pulling out a diningroom chair for her to sit in. "It's not what you think," he tried to assure her, speaking softly.

"What do I think?" she asked, cautious, sitting in slow motion.

"You think I want to call off the wedding."

"You don't?"

He shook his head, then knelt down in front of her. "I love you, Monica. So much so, that sometimes I think my heart will burst, unable to contain it." She smiled at his words. "But," he added, and the smile dropped from her face, "There's something you need to know. To understand. And it won't be easy to hear, or believe, but I'm telling you the truth, when I tell you this."

"Ok," she nodded, tense as she waited for him to continue.

"There's something about me you don't know. Something I kept from you, because I didn't know how you would respond. Something that will change everything between us."

"You're scaring me, Chandler," she whispered, fear clearly present in her tone.

"I don't mean to," he told her, admitting, "I'm scared, too. Scared you'll think I'm crazy, and leave me."

"I won't leave you, Chandler. Whatever this is, we'll work through it."

"I want you to know, before I tell you this… I'm not sick. I don't have a fever, and I didn't bump my head. And I'm not trying to create an excuse to leave you, nor am I insane. What I'm about to tell you, is the absolute truth, as hard as it may be to believe."

"Please, Chandler," she sighed, the wait torturous, "Just- just tell me."

After taking a deep breath to settle his nerves, and gathering his courage, he announced, "Monica, I'm- I'm… Santa Claus."

Dumbfounded, she said nothing, staring past him. Almost through him. She couldn't have heard him right. What did he mean by that?

"Say something," he asked of her, and her brow furrowed as she tried to figure out what to say in response.

"Santa Claus, like, at the mall? You lost your job, and now you're a mall Santa?"

He shook his head. "No, Monica. I'm not a mall Santa, I'm the **real** Santa."

"Santa isn't real," she informed him. "He's make-believe. A fun fairytale for kids to believe in."

"No," he told her softly. "He's real, and I am him."

Suddenly, she started laughing, "Oh! It's a joke! It's a prank, right?" Her laughter started to subside as he shook his head. Her expression changed to a scowl. "This isn't funny, Chandler."

He bowed his head, defeated. "I'm not trying to be funny."

"So, what's next?" she asked, sounding angry. "You have to go to the North Pole? Like you told Janice you had to go to Yemen, right? You are such a chicken! If you want to bail, at least have the balls to **tell** me! Instead of making up crazy stories!"

"I'm not, Monica," he said softly, sadly. "I'm not making this up. I told you," he reminded. "I told you this would be hard to believe."

"Hard to believe?!" she repeated, sarcastic. "Oh no! It's not hard to believe! I'm actually surprised it didn't happen sooner! You know what," she announced, "I'm gonna make this easy for you! **I'm** calling off the wedding!" 

She stood, avoiding the mess on the floor and marching with purpose towards their room. "You can sleep on the couch," she told him, entering the livingroom with a blanket and pillow in her arms; she startled when she saw that he was no longer in the room.

He wasn't in the bathroom; the door was open and she could easily see in. She peeked out on the balcony after dropping the bedding on the couch, but he wasn't out there, either.

Then her eyes settled on the front door. He must've gone over to Joey's and Rachel's, she thought to herself, picking the bedding up to put back away. Two steps from the room, she dropped to her knees, sobbing.

The man she loved; the man she wanted to marry, and grow old with, wanted out. It felt like her heart was breaking.

**TO BE CONTINUED**…

Please review! And remember… He knows when you are sleeping; he knows when you're awake. He knows if you've been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake.

MTLBYAKY


	3. Chapter Two

The One With The Truth About Santa

By: Jana~

**Chapter Two**

**

--Cooking was her solace, so the breakfast she created was way above and beyond what was typical. Or needed.

Monica had hoped Chandler would come back, wandering into their room and begging forgiveness, telling her he just got cold feet or something, but he didn't. He stayed away, all night long. 

She couldn't sleep, thinking about all that was said; how they'd left things, and she wanted to at least talk to him, to find out where they stood.

The apartment had never looked so good, or smelled so lemony-fresh, cleaning also a comfort to her when she was stressed. And what with all the food, it looked like she was preparing for an extravagant gathering.

"Wow, what's the occasion?" Joey asked, in awe of the elaborate spread of food. "It all looks so delicious!" While reaching for a plate, ready to help himself, he stopped suddenly, asking, "It's for us, right?"

"Yeah, it's for you guys," Monica answered, her attention still on the griddle as she flipped the last of the pancakes.

Happily, he grabbed a plate and started loading it down.

"Is Chandler up yet?" she asked, very aware of how awkward she felt.

"I don't know," he replied, oblivious to the tension radiating from her as he looked towards his friend's bedroom. "Chandler?" he called out, "You up?"

Monica called Joey's name to gain his attention. "He's not in there," she told him, adding the perfectly cooked flapjacks to the stack. "I thought he was over at your place."

Joey scowled as he looked back at her. "Why would he be over there?"

Untying her apron and pulling it off, she informed, "We had a fight last night. He took off."

"Well, he wasn't there when I got up," he said, his attention back on the food table, "But maybe he was up and out the door before I was."

"Yeah," she muttered, unsure. "Maybe."

"Wow! What's all this?" Rachel asked with a laugh, letting herself into her old apartment.

"I was anxious," Monica said quickly in explanation. "Listen, Rach, was Chandler over at your place when you got up?"

"Um, no," she answered, a scowl of confusion that matched Joey's earlier expression.

"Were you up before Joey?" was Monica's next question, her arms crossed, her body tense.

"Isn't everyone?" Rachel asked in response, followed by a chuckle, to which Joey nodded silently in response.

"Chandler and I had a fight last night," Monica explained for the second time, passing the joke without pause. "He took off."

"Uh-oh," Rachel exclaimed, finally getting the serious nature of her stance. "What did you fight about?"

With a sigh, she said, "I think he's getting cold feet."

"What makes you think so?" Rachel asked as she grabbed a plate, at the ready to get some food as soon as Joey moved out of her way.

"Remember that time," Monica began, "When Chandler told Janice he was moving to Yemen, just to get away from her?"

"Yeah?" Rachel answered, her tone encouraging her to continue; Joey shuddered at the mention of the name, but they both pretty much ignored him.

"Well, he kinda did that. Made up some stupid story, but, he really outdid himself this time."

"Why? What did he say?"

"He said-" She stopped abruptly when the door flew open.

"Wow! We havin some sort of party?" Phoebe asked as she walked in, spotting all the food.

"No," Monica explained yet again, "I was just anxious and felt like cooking."

"For all the occupants of the building?" Phoebe asked, laughing at her own sarcastic remark. "Why are you anxious?"

"Monica thinks Chandler is getting cold feet," Rachel informed, catching her up to speed.

"And why does Monica think this?" Phoebe asked, grabbing a plate and getting in line behind Rachel. "It's like a buffet!"

"Better!" Joey announced, his plate piled ridiculously high with everything offered, "It's free!"

"Chandler made up some stupid story," Rachel continued, "Is why Monica thinks he wants out."

"What story did he make up?" Phoebe asked, her attention half on the table full of food.

"He said he was-" Monica tried again to share with her friends the ludicrous story, only to be interrupted yet again. 

"God, Monica!"

Everyone turned to see Ross standing at the door.

"Did Times Square call and ask for catering?"

"She was anxious," Phoebe told him, handing him a plate and indicating where the end of the line was.

"Why?" he asked, disbelieving of the sight in front of him. He made a quiet scoffing sound as he muttered, "You could feed an army, here!"

"Chandler's feet are cold," Joey announced, his mouth full. "He took off last night."

"What?" Ross asked in shock. "He's gone for good?"

"I don't know," Monica admitted. "I told him the wedding was off, and when I-"

"Wait," Ross interrupted. "Why did you tell him the wedding was off?" He wasn't nearly as interested in all the food as the rest of the friends were, in light of what his sister had just said.

"Because," she explained, "He made up this crazy story, kinda like the one he made up to get rid of Janice. Remember Yemen?"

"Well, what did he say?" Ross asked, everyone else's attention still very much divided between Monica and the breakfast buffet.

"Napkin please?"

"Oooh, I'll take one of those, too."

"Where's the syrup?"

"He said he was Santa Claus." 

All the breakfast time comments ceased instantly, all eyes on her, the room falling silent.

Finally, the hear-a-pin-drop silence was shattered when Joey said, "What?"

The question being asked, and finally out there, the rest followed suit, asking the exact same question with differing degrees of inflection, all at a loss for what else to say as her words sunk in.

"That's what he said," Monica insisted. "He said he was Santa Claus."

Always trying to be logical, and scientific, Ross suggested, "Maybe he meant one of those, mall Santas."

She shook her head. "I asked him that, he said he was the **real Santa. He also said he wasn't trying to appear crazy, to get out of the wedding, and that he wasn't sick or delirious." She sighed, "Why would he **say** something like that if he didn't want out?"**

"Maybe it's a prank," Rachel offered. "You know how he is."

"He said it wasn't," Monica muttered sadly, moving to the livingroom to sit on the couch; the rest followed her, all abandoning their plates except for Joey.

"Why are we so certain that he **isn't** Santa Claus," Phoebe asked. "I mean, none of us really **knows** what it is that he does for a living."

"Because, Phoebe," Ross informed her staunchly, "Santa Claus isn't real."

"Maybe he really **is sick, but just doesn't know it," Rachel added to the list of possibilities, moving the conversation away from the debate she saw coming between Ross and Phoebe. "Sometimes, when people are sick, they don't even realize it, ya'know?"**

"Well, if that's the case," Joey asked, "Shouldn't we go and try to find him?"

They all agreed with varying responses, Ross adding, "Monica, you stay here. In case he comes back, or calls."

She nodded in agreement, smiling despite the situation when Joey reached out and grabbed several pieces of French toast for the road.

**TO BE CONTINUED**…

Please review! And remember… "If Santa and the Holiday Armadillo are ever in the same room for too long, the universe will implode! Merry Christmas!"

MTLBYAKY


	4. Chapter Three

The One With The Truth About Santa

By: Jana~

**Chapter Three**

***

--There'd been no word in over an hour, and Monica ran out of busy work as she waited for someone to call, or check in. Hugging herself, she paced the apartment, replaying the fight between her and Chandler over and over in her mind.

He didn't seem ill, when he spoke to her, and he definitely didn't appear to be joking. He actually seemed hurt, when she yelled at him, and she wanted more than anything, just to understand what had happened. To understand why Chandler said what he did.

Turning to pace in the opposite direction, she nearly tripped over her own feet, stopping abruptly, letting out a scream as she saw a man she didn't know standing before her.

"Don't be afraid, Monica," he said, his tone soft and untroubled by her reaction to him.

"Who are you?" she shrieked.

"I'm a friend of Chandler's." He was the absolute opposite of her, completely calm.

"How did you get in here, without me hearing you?" she asked, anger and fear rolling up into a ball of emotion that caused her heart to race. "What do you want?"

"I'm sorry I frightened you," he apologized. "I came to talk to you."

"Why?" she challenged him. "Where's Chandler?"

"He's very busy," was his answer. "He misses you."

"Misses me?" she asked, surprised. "He's the one that left! Besides, he's only been gone a few hours."

The smile that crossed his face instantly told her that it wasn't that simple. "I don't like games," she warned, "And that's what this feels like."

"I assure you," he said, his confidence clearly discernible, "This is **not a game. Not everything beyond your realm of understanding is a game. Just because you haven't seen it," he added with a knowing grin, "Doesn't mean it doesn't exist."**

After a moment's pause, he produced from his pocket, a breathtaking snowflake pendant, made of white gold, attached to a white gold chain. In the center of the snowflake, was a diamond.

"Chandler wanted you to have this," he said to her, and she took it cautiously from his outstretched hand. "If you need to see him, wear it around your neck, and rub the pendant."

"Can't I just call him?" she asked, tearing her gaze from the stunning necklace she now held.

"There are no phones, where he is," he explained.

"Where is he?" she asked, disbelieving. "Middle of BFE?"

"Um, no, actually," he smirked as he corrected, "About 5,900 miles North." Her eyes narrowed on him as she stared back, but he moved on without concern. "Rub the snowflake pendant," he reiterated, "And Chandler will appear."

Before she could respond, the front door flew open, her friends and brother entering, and she turned to face them as she exclaimed, "Guys, this guy knows where Chandler-" 

She stopped abruptly when she turned to point at the man she had just been talking to, and saw that he was no longer there.

"Um, Mon," Rachel asked, "What guy?"

She spun around, several times, looking for the man that had been standing in her livingroom mere seconds ago, looking confused.

"He was just here," Monica said with a scowl. "He didn't pass you on the way out?"

"No one passed us," Phoebe said, concerned for her friend.

They weren't sure what was going on, but just to be on the safe side, Ross and Joey started looking in all the rooms for any sign of someone as Rachel and Phoebe encouraged Monica to sit. She was shaking.

"What happened?" Phoebe asked, her hand on Monica's knee in support.

"I don't exactly know," Monica answered unevenly. "I was pacing, waiting for you guys to call, and I turned around, and there he was!"

"No one's here," Ross informed, walking out of Rachel's old room, then gave Joey an upnod as he returned from the balcony. "Well?"

Joey shook his head. "Doesn't look like anyone used the fire escape or anything," he reported, then joined the girls and Ross at the couch.

"What did this guy look like?" Ross asked.

"Can you describe him?" Rachel added, trying to be helpful. "Did he give you a name?"

"He didn't give his name, he only said that he was a friend of Chandler's. He was short," she described him, "Maybe a little more than five feet tall, with dark curly hair and…" She trailed off as she remembered.

"And what, Mon?" Rachel asked, showing support, hoping to encourage her to continue.

"He gave me this," Monica finished her previous sentence, holding out her hand.

Rachel gasped at the exquisite piece of jewelry, as Phoebe and Joey both muttered in amazement.

Unimpressed, Ross immediately snatched the necklace and started examining it. "Why did he give you this?"

"He said that it was a gift, from Chandler." Her tone showed the strain she was feeling.

With a heavy sigh, Ross handed the necklace back to his sister. "What kind of game is he playing?"

"Can I see the necklace?" Phoebe asked, and Monica passed it down to her.

"When I see him again," Ross added angrily, "I'm gonna **kick his ass**!"

"Now, wait," Joey spoke up in Chandler's defense, "Maybe this is some sort of plan or something, ya'know? Like when he tried to propose, but screwed it all up? Shouldn't we wait and see what's up before we start hating him?"

"I don't hate him," Monica stated sadly, "I just want to know what's going on."

When the tear trickled down her face, Rachel put her arm around her consolingly. "I'm sure there's an explanation for all this. He loves you! He would never do anything to knowingly hurt you."

Joey readily agreed, but Ross, who was still holding onto his anger, just shook his head and looked away.

Gently, Phoebe touched Monica's leg, gaining her attention. "This necklace," she whispered, "Isn't an ordinary necklace."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ross asked, and all eyes fell to Phoebe.

"I don't know **what**," she prefaced, "But there is something very significant about this piece of jewelry. I'm getting a definite vibe off it," she added, to which Ross scoffed.

"Ok, Phoebe, with all due respect to your weird beliefs, this isn't helping the situation."

"Just you calling her beliefs 'weird' is showing a **lack** of respect, Ross," Rachel pointed out, and he huffed in response.

"I'm trying to be realistic here, ok? There's no, magical necklace! Chandler isn't Santa Claus, for crying out loud! And, I'm sorry, but I doubt the man is setting this up because he's planning some sort of grand gesture or whatever. I think he got scared and is running," he added, angrily.

When Monica started to cry, Rachel tightened her grip slightly, pulling her into a hug. "That's just great, Ross. Maybe later you can go kill some Smurfs."

"Smurfs aren't real-" Ross stopped the comeback abruptly when he saw the glare Rachel and Phoebe wore. "Fine, I'm the jerk here. Whatever."

"We're not calling you a jerk," Rachel told him, to which Phoebe added, "But, and with all due respect, we **do** think you're a little closed-minded."

"Oh, ok," he shot back sarcastically. "Chandler **is** Santa Claus! Yeah! He rides around every December 24th, in a sled pulled by reindeer, that can **fly**, mind you, and delivers presents to a billion kids all over the world!" 

"And that necklace," he continued his mocking, "It **is** magical! Yep! When you **rub** it, Chandler will suddenly appear, as if by magic! And he'll-" 

He stopped rambling when he heard the gasp and saw the look on Monica's face. "What?" he asked, confused.

"I didn't tell you that," Monica announced. "I remember clearly omitting it, because I knew you would scoff."

"What did you omit?" Phoebe asked.

"The guy, he said that if I rubbed the pendant, Chandler would appear."

"This is ridiculous," Ross spat, then snagged the necklace from his sister's hand. "I'm going to disprove this once and for all!" With nary a pause, he began to rub the pendant, and all in the room subconsciously held their breath as they awaited what would happen next.

**TO BE CONTINUED**…

Ok, so, I went to a taping of Will & Grace last night (Dec 9th), and Sean Hayes, the actor who plays Jack, kissed my cheek! And when I told him I love him (calmly, breezily, not like a screaming raving fan or anything), he said, "I love you, too!"

It was **very** cool!

Anyway, so, please review!

MTLBYAKY


	5. Chapter Four

The One With The Truth About Santa

By: Jana~

****

**Chapter Four**

****

--Even Ross glanced around the room, though no one really expected anything to happen. Well, no one, except for Monica.

Not that she **expected** something to happen, necessarily, but a little something deep inside, **wanted** something to happen. Wanted to believe that Chandler was somehow telling the truth, though she knew that to be impossible.

She felt Rachel tighten her grip, sympathetically, pitying her, and Ross' indignant smugness dissipated as he dropped his hand to his side, the necklace still in it.

"I'm sorry, Monica," he sighed, noticing the slight anticipation in her expression and demeanor, "It's just a bauble."

"Well," Rachel corrected, "It's a little more than that." Pointing towards his hand, she informed, "That's 24k white gold, with a 2ct diamond, easy. That is **not** a cheap bauble."

As Monica reached for it, Ross handed it over, asking, "How could he afford **that** after buying that insanely expensive engagement ring? Data processing doesn't pay **that** well."

"He's not a data processor," Monica muttered as she fingered the delicate white gold chain attached to the snowflake pendant, "He does data reconfiguration and statistical factoring."

"What's the difference?" Joey asked.

As Monica shrugged, Rachel announced, "How much he gets paid, for one thing."

"Yeah," Monica agreed distantly, then closed her fingers around the elegant piece of jewelry before slipping it into her sweatshirt pocket.

"You ok, Mon?" Phoebe asked, concerned, and Monica nodded.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just, really tired. I didn't sleep much last night. I think it's finally catching up with me."

"Do you want us to leave? So you can get some rest?"

"Or, we can stay," Rachel added to Phoebe's offer, "If you would rather not be alone right now."

"No, it's ok," Monica assured them. "I don't need a babysitter. I'm fine. Just tired."

Ross nodded as he stepped towards the door, Joey following suit.

"We're right across the hall," Rachel reminded, giving Monica another hug. "If you need anything…"

"I know," she whispered, fighting against tears. "I just need to be alone for a little while, ok?"

Phoebe inched in closer, joining the hug, kissing Monica's hair. "It's all going to be ok," she promised, and Monica nodded weakly, holding on to the simple comment as if it were proven fact.

She saw them to the door, forcing a slight smile as she waved, trying to convey that she would be all right, and that they did not need to worry about her, though she knew they would anyway. And then she closed the door and locked it, sighing as she headed for her bedroom to lie down.

***

--Though not easily, Monica finally drifted off into a fitful sleep, clutching the recent gift from Chandler in her hand so fiercely, it left indentations on her palm.

Her dreams bounced around, like brief clips from a TV show, containing real moments, absurd situations, and things she wished for to happen, all contributing to the restlessness that eventually woke her.

Sitting up, she groaned in frustration as she looked around the room, realizing a moment later that her hand and arm hurt from holding the pendant and necklace so tightly for so long.

She relaxed her hand, easing her fingers open, staring down as the stunning item came into view.

So many unanswered questions, and the gift she now held created more than it answered.

"Chandler," she whispered to the empty room, "I don't know where you are, but I know it's not **here**, where I want you to be. I want us to be able to talk this out. I want to work through, whatever it is that's made you do this. And say those things."

"And what's with this necklace?" she asked. "Who was that guy who gave it to me, and how did he get in and out so fast, without anyone seeing him? Why did he say that you would appear, if I rubbed the pendant? Cause Ross rubbed it, and nothing happened."

Almost as if audible, she heard the voice of the strange man, repeating the words he'd said to her… "If you need to see him, wear it around your neck, and rub the pendant."

Scowling, she mumbled, "That couldn't possibly make a difference, could it? What are you talking about," she admonished herself for her thoughts, "There's no way rubbing this pendant will make Chandler appear! Whether I'm wearing it or not."

It went beyond anything she knew as fact. There was no Santa Claus. There was no magic, other than illusion. There was no **way** the necklace she held in her hand was anything more than a necklace.

Still, something within her was drawing her to it, making her want to try and see, just to be certain. She let the chain dangle between her fingers for a moment, before unhooking the clasp and moving to hook it around her neck.

Staring down at the pendant, she could feel her heart beat faster, knowing it couldn't possibly work, but aware of the tiny shred of doubt growing wider, creating anticipation that was near palpable as she prepared to test her entire belief system.

With a shaky breath, she gingerly took the pendant into her grasp, then, hesitating only slightly, began to rub the snowflake with her thumb, repeating over and over again, in a whisper, "I only want to talk to you, Chandler."

She closed her eyes, almost as if praying, the same words falling from her lips, concentrating hard, as if she could will him to show up by focusing on the desire to see him again.

"I only want to talk to you, Chandler. I only want to talk to you, Chandler. I only want to-"

"I'm here."

Monica startled at the softly spoken words, her eyes flying open, staring in disbelief as he stood before her.

"Chandler?" she breathed, and he smiled at her in return. 

Nothing else mattered in that moment, except the fact that he was there, in front of her, and without caring how it was possible, she jumped from the bed and threw herself into his arms.

**TO BE CONTINUED**…

Please review! Seriously. I know I get a lot of reviews, and I know some of you out there are thinking, why should **I** review? She gets enough reviews! But, I'll tell'ya, one can **never** have 'enough' reviews! I need more and more and more! Fill my inbox with them! Seriously.

Thank you, and Happy Holidays!

MTLBYAKY


	6. Chapter Five

The One With The Truth About Santa

By: Jana~

**Chapter Five**

*****

--"I didn't mean it," she told him, holding onto him tightly, as if loosening her grip would result in him disappearing.

"What didn't you mean?" he asked, his embrace of her just as desperate.

"I don't want to call off the wedding," she told him. "I love you! I was just, upset. Over what you said. But, I don't care about that! Whatever problems you're having, we'll work through them together."

Pulling away from her, he softly explained, "I don't want to call off the wedding, either. And I love you, too. So much. But, Monica, this isn't a **problem**, it's who I am. I'm Santa Claus, not crazy."

She shook her head, frustrated. "Maybe you're not crazy, but, you're also **not** Santa Claus!"

Smiling, he asked, "How do you know? Have you ever met Santa Claus?"

"Santa Claus isn't real." The tone was unyielding. "So, no, I haven't met him."

"Mon," he asked gently, "Why do **you** think I'm saying this? Why do **you** think I am so insistent, that I'm Santa Claus?"

She started to cry, and he quickly gathered her into his arms. "I don't **know** why you're doing this, I just wish you would stop it now. Please," she begged. "No more games."

Shushing her consolingly, he whispered, "Please don't cry, babe. I'm not playing a game with you. I want **so** badly to share this with you. You're making it difficult."

Pushing away from him, she stood defiant. "I'm making it difficult? **I'm** making it difficult?!"

He sighed, his gaze dropping to the floor. "If you can't allow yourself to believe, just a little bit, then, I don't have the power to show you."

Frustrated, she wrapped her arms tightly around herself, dropping her tired body onto the edge of the bed. "I don't know what you want from me," she muttered, defeated. "**You** tell **me**, what do you want from me?"

Kneeling before her, he placed his hand on her knee, smiling up at her. "I want you to try, Mon. I want you to try and forget, everything you **think** you know, and look at me without the notions that years of conditioning has taught you."

She sighed. "In English?"

"Look at me with the innocence of a child. Children don't see in black and white, they see in all colors, where anything is possible, and nothing is necessarily absolute. Where monsters under the bed can very well be real, and wishing upon a star can **actually** work."

"I don't know how to do that."

"Yes," he told her softly, "You do. Do you know why nothing happened when Ross rubbed the pendant?" The question was rhetorical, so he didn't wait for an answer. "Because he believed with all certainty that it wouldn't. Do you know why it **did** work for you?" he asked, cupping her face, gently caressing her cheek with his thumb. "Because, for a brief moment, you **actually** believed it could."

"I did?"

Nodding, he said, "I wouldn't be here otherwise. I can see you, hear you, but I can't appear to you, if you have no belief that I can."

"So, if I don't believe that you are Santa Claus, I will never see you again?"

"No. If you **don't** believe that I am Santa Claus, I cannot appear to you. I can still get home to you, but only by non-magical means."

"What do you mean?"

"It's not unlike transporting, or teleporting, like in a sci-fi movie. If you rub the pendant, and if you believe that I can, then I can **will** myself to appear."

A heavy sigh escaped, a scowl prominent. "So, let's say, for argument's sake, that you **are** Santa Claus… where does that leave **us**?" she asked. "I would be **Mrs. Claus**, instead of Mrs. Bing? We would have to live at the North Pole, away from our friends?"

"No," he assured her. "Santa Claus isn't a name, it's a title. Like, Chef. Paleontologist. Fashion Consultant. Actor. When we get married, you will be Mrs. Bing, or Geller-Bing, if you plan to hyphenate. And no, we wouldn't live at the North Pole. I only need to be there a few weeks a year, right before Christmas. I also pop in from time to time to check up on things, but that only takes a few hours in **this** time."

She eyed him warily, taking notice of the way he'd said those last few words. "What does **that** mean, in **this** time?"

"I don't know how it works. To scientifically dissect it would ruin the wonderment, and magic of it. But, Santa Claus, and all his employees potentially, have the ability to change the way time is spent. The way it's used."

"And you don't see how crazy this sounds?" she challenged.

"No, I see it, and I reacted the same way, when I was first approached. But, I was being told all this by a stranger," he offered. "I would think that **you**, would be a little more open to this, since it's **me** who's telling you about it."

"Oh, don't do that," she shot back. "Don't put this back on me, like I'm being irrational or something! This is a lot to take, ok? I- I don't know what to believe! Do I want to believe you? Yeah! But, it's not as easy as that."

"I know," he relented. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make this harder for you. It's just, all my nightmares are coming true. You have no idea," he told her, "How many times I have woken in the night, after having dreamt that you would act exactly like you're acting. That you wouldn't believe me, and I would have to choose between you and this awesome world."

"And if you had to choose?" she asked carefully.

He smiled, though there was a touch of sadness present. "I would choose you, Monica. And they know that."

"Who's they?" she asked.

"The other employees. The elves."

"There are elves?" she asked. "Like, little people with pointy ears, elves?"

Laughing, he said, "No, no. That's in books and movies. Elves aren't little creatures," he explained. "It's a title. A position; like Santa Claus. They're people, like me, who donate time to this amazing experience."

"And you would give it up, for me?" she asked, and his smile grew wider.

It was the first time that she truly sounded as if she believed in what he was telling her. There were no words of disbelief, no tone of doubt, just a sincere question about where she fit into all he was telling her.

"If you asked me to, I would," he assured her. "But it is my hope, that you would come and see **first**, before you asked me to."

"Come and see…?" Her dangled sentence left little doubt what she was asking.

Smiling, he held out his hand. "Trust me," he whispered, "And believe it is possible, and I will show you."

Slowly, she reached out, her eyes locking with his as he gently seized her hand in his. "Don't be afraid," he told her, "And don't let go of my hand."

Shimmering lights seemed to appear out of nowhere, surrounding them, and she was very aware of his tightened grasp as everything around her began to blur.

**TO BE CONTINUED**…

Stepping things up a bit, since Christmas is **so** close. Man, what am I doing here, writing stories when I **should** be going out and buying Christmas presents for my family, and buying and decorating a Christmas tree?!

See how much I love you guys? So, spread the love… leave a review!

MTLBYAKY


	7. Chapter Six

The One With The Truth About Santa

By: Jana~

**Chapter Six**

******

--The apartment disappeared, like it just washed away, their surroundings being replaced by something unimaginable. 

Holiday decorations hung from every corner; every wall; everywhere, and cheerful music filled the room as the dozens of people present laughed and busied themselves with tasks and activities.

Startled, she grabbed onto Chandler, using him for balance as the room they now stood in came into view.

"What did-? Where-? How did-?"

"Don't be afraid," he whispered, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

"Sir! You're back!" 

Monica recognized immediately, the happy man on the approach. He was the man that stood in her livingroom; that handed her the snowflake pendant and necklace, then vanished just as abruptly as he appeared.

"Hey, Bernard," Chandler acknowledged with a smile. "Sorry it took me so long," he apologized. "Did the next shift make it in on time?"

"Yes, sir," Bernard answered. "No delay problems to report." His eyes then moved to Monica.

"Oh!" Chandler suddenly exclaimed. "I'm sorry, you two haven't been formerly introduced. Bernard, this is Monica. Monica, this is Bernard."

"It's wonderful to finally meet you, properly," Bernard returned, extending his hand to shake hers, but Monica just stared back in shock and confusion.

"She's still trying to come to terms," Chandler explained, and Bernard nodded in understanding.

"Sir," a young woman said as she stepped forward, "Welcome back!" She extended a tray as she offered, "Your Yoohoo with a crazy straw."

He smiled as he took the glass bottle from off the tray. "Ginny," he sighed appreciatively, "You always remember."

"It's my job, sir," she bowed gratefully. "May I get you anything, Monica?"

"How did you know-?"

"It's my job to know," she answered before the full question was asked. "Cocoa with marshmallows, yes?" When Monica didn't respond, Ginny smiled warmly. "It's my specialty. I'm sure you'll find it to your liking."

As Ginny walked away, Chandler's grip tightened around Monica, bringing her along as he started to head off in a specific direction. Bernard matched his steps perfectly. Heavily, half dazed, she moved with him, her eyes darting around as she took in the festive setting.

"Production is right on schedule, sir," Bernard informed proudly. "We did have a slight problem with one of the presents. For Ian Lantz, 11 years old, Nice List, Sector 92882-5, but we resolved it."

"Sounds like you're right on top of things," Chandler praised. "As usual."

"Thank you, sir!"

"We're going to be in my office," Chandler said as they approached a large door that held a wreath, lights, and decorations of all sorts. "Give us some time alone, ok?" he requested, then added, "Except for Ginny, when she brings Monica's hot cocoa."

"Yes, sir," Bernard said with a nod, seeming to stand a little taller as the instruction was given.

Chandler then opened the door, gesturing for Monica to enter, which she did hesitantly. Closing the door softly, he watched as she stepped further into the room, looking around as she hugged herself protectively.

"I'm standing here, seeing it- experiencing it, but yet I still don't believe it."

"I know what you mean," he told her, sympathetic. "When I was first told, I didn't believe it either."

She turned to face him. "I think you better start at the beginning."

"Almost a year ago, I was approached by a guy. Claimed to be a distant cousin. He bought me dinner, talked my ear off for hours, telling me about the importance of family, and taking over the family business when you're needed. Finally, he tells me, that he's Santa Claus. I figure he's a loon, so I humor him, telling him how fascinating it all sounds, and what a fun job."

"He then asks me if I would like to see the workshop, so I say sure. I actually screamed like a little girl as we arrived," he remembered with a smile. "I think I freaked everyone out more than I was freaked out!"

"It's real," he gestured around them, "And it's amazing. And it's not like the movies or books or legends or whatever. Apparently, the position is passed down within the family, but because of a freak accident, I ended up being the only male blood relation. Slight, but enough. If I hadn't taken the job, a new family would have been chosen to carry on the tradition."

"Jerry, my cousin, he begged me to take the job. He was getting old, and wanted to retire. To be involved in something so amazing? Of course I said yes!"

Sighing, she asked, "So, how does this work exactly? Flying reindeer? Elves working year round, making toys?"

"No," he said, explaining, "There are no flying reindeer. Well over one hundred years ago, before the Silaer became what it is today, one of the Santas used reindeer to pull his sled, but they never flew. We **think** that's how that story started. There are a **lot** of stories out there, depending on the region and beliefs, but most of them are far from true."

"The Silaer?" she asked.

"It's what we call the power to teleport. We think part of that power comes from the Aurora Borealis, but like I said, to dissect it would ruin the magic of it, so we just accept it as possible and use it for a great purpose."

"As for the toys," he continued. "No, the elves don't make the toys. They used to make them, way back when, but the elves **now** are actually in charge of finding and acquiring the toys. Some pitch in money from their own pockets. Usually, we do toy drives, fundraisers, take in donations…"

"How do you know what to get each child?"

He smiled. "He sees you when you're sleeping," he whispered, "He knows when you're awake. He knows if you've been bad or good-"

"I know the song, Chandler," she interrupted, a slight smile on her face, "But, what if they ask for the impossible? Like, let's say a kid wishes for, I don't know, their family dog to not be dead anymore?"

"I can't raise the dead," he told her, "But I can find alternatives. Maybe go to the second or third item on the list. If there are no other requests, I may get the child a new dog, or something else that we have observed him wanting."

"How can the parents not know that there is a gift or gifts that they didn't buy? I mean, they gotta be wondering where they came from, right?"

Shaking his head, he explained, "With the magic that makes this possible, comes a blindness, if you will. To those who believe, they believe and find joy and wonderment in it. To those who don't believe, it just doesn't compute in their heads at all. It's quickly dismissed, as if the question has been answered and found unimportant or noteworthy."

"Ok, but, how can you deliver toys to boys and girls all over the world in **one night**? It's not possible!"

With a knowing grin he said in return, "So sure are you?"

She returned his smile, but answered seriously, "I'm not sure of anything anymore."

"Good!" Cupping her hand in both of his, he said, "Come with me. I want to show you something."

**TO BE CONTINUED**…

Little nod in there to my oldest son, Ian. I had hoped I would be able to finish this story by Christmas, but it looks like that won't be possible. Sorry about that.

Got the tree bought, but it **still** sits undecorated. Got all the presents bought and wrapped… Well, almost. 

I have this possessed talking Dora the Explorer thingie for my niece, and just bumping it sets the thing off! She's not even gonna have to unwrap it to know what it is! So, I have been trying to figure out how to wrap it so it won't be going off every few seconds!

Still have to make the Vitabrod (Swedish Christmas bread made in my family for generations!), and finish the potato salad. Man, I'm just a busy little sicky-poo bee this holiday!

I'm **still** stupid sick. I have coughed so much, my internal organs hurt! Blech!

I know, whine, whine, whine.

Anyway, hope you all have a wonderful holiday! Don't eat too many sweets! They always taste good going down, but they really lose something in the translation when coming back up. Ewwww, right?

Ok, it's 1:30 in the freaking morning, and I have to be up in 4 hours to start the Vitabrod, so, gonna post this quick and be off to bed.

Please, be kind to this tired, sickly, over-worked and under appreciated writer and leave a review… k?

Happy Holidays! And MTLBYAKY


	8. Chapter Seven

The One With The Truth About Santa

By: Jana~

**Chapter Seven**

*******

--Monica looked in awe at the large screen in front of her. It almost looked like a cross between a television set and a movie theater screen, though it was larger than any TV she'd ever seen, and smaller than any movie screen. Projected, were smaller squares, like picture-in-picture would be on a more expensive TV, but the whole screen was made up of pictures, all showing children at play, or doing chores, or other tasks or activities of the like.

"This is the Naughty or Nice Meter," Chandler told her. "Like a computer, it calculates the behaviors of those who believe in Santa Claus, and collates the names into each list – naughty or nice. If we need to, or want to, we can call up a specific child and check on them, or if the data is inconclusive, the computer will place them in a third list, 'To Decide', and I would then review that child's behavior, and decide which list to place them on."

"You sure wouldn't want to have a crash on **this** computer," Monica muttered, but Chandler just chuckled.

"It's not like a Pentium computer, Mon, it's part of the magic that runs all of this. It has never crashed since its existence, so I wouldn't worry too much about that as possible. But," he changed the subject, "Here is what is interesting…"

He brought the keyboard more to face him, then started typing names, narrowing the search with a click of the mouse. "I can see anyone I want to see," he explained, the little windows on the screen starting to call up specific images. "Here's Rachel," he announced, "And here's Ross. Phoebe," he said with a click, "And here's Joey."

"Now," he said with a grin, "Watch what happens when I click **this**."

The words at the top of the screen said: 'Belief', and when he clicked it, a gauge of sorts appeared beneath the images of their friends.

Monica scowled, and asked, "What is it I'm looking at?"

"This tells me who believes in Santa, and who doesn't. And to what percentage. Under Ross' name, it says 1%, under Rachel's, 7%, but, now, look under Joey's and Phoebe's names," he instructed.

With a smile, she whispered, "They believe."

He nodded happily. "They believe in Santa!" he exclaimed. "Isn't that awesome?"

"So, now, do they get presents? Because they believe?"

"Well, no," he explained. "Only children get gifts. It's rare, when we find adults who believe. It is **those** adults who usually end up joining us, here at the North Pole. I'm thinking of asking them to join me," he added as he pointed at their pictures on the screen. "Ask them to be elves."

"I could **so** see them doing this," she told him, and he nodded.

"And," he asked, "What about you?"

"What about me?" Her slight smirk told him exactly where she stood.

"Would you want to join me, in this amazing adventure and purpose?"

"Well, if I'm Mrs. Claus," she asked, "What would my duties be, exactly?"

"Well," he said with a smile that could not be contained, "Your number one job would be to make sure Santa is happy."

"I think I'm up for that challenge," she returned with a light kiss to his lips. "What else?"

"Well, usually, **commonly**, Mrs. Claus is in charge of the kitchen." He beamed when she did.

"I would be, like, head chef?"

A firm nod was his answer. "The elves have to eat sometime," he added. "And, you would have help, of course, cause during the busy time we can have upwards of two thousand elves here, on call."

"Wow," she gasped, "That many?"

"The show isn't run by just **me**, believe me."

She smiled, but a concerned expression soon took its place. "But wait," she asked, "What about Ross and Rachel?"

With a shrug, he said, "I can't **make** them believe, and as you can see," he added, gesturing to the large screen that displayed the images of their friends, and the meter that showed them to have no belief in Santa, "They don't."

"So, then, what, we just leave them behind each year? I mean, can't you just, **poof** in and show them, like you did me?"

Realizing how upset this was making her, he wrapped his arms around her consolingly. "I wish there was another way, Mon, believe me, but it's against the rules to try to convince non-believers of Santa's existence by magical means. I can **tell** them who I am, but they have to believe on their own."

"You," he added, "Showed **just** enough belief to make appearing to you possible."

She scowled slightly when asking, "Where does the percentage have to be? Where was mine?"

"For everyone who doesn't possess one of these pendants," he explained, pulling back and touching the gold snowflake that still hung around Monica's neck, "Your belief percentage must be at least 50%. Your percentage was 25%."

"There's more than one of these?" she asked, glancing down briefly at the necklace.

Nodding, he said, "There are five."

"Why so many?"

"For Santa to give to his family. Wife, kids, a sibling, perhaps."

After a momentary pause, Monica sighed deeply, looking around her. "This is all so incredible. Beyond anything I would've dreamed possible."

"I know." He smiled, kissing her temple.

"When will you ask Phoebe and Joey?" she asked, curious.

"Soon," he replied. "Christmas is less than two weeks away."

*****

**JUST SHY OF ONE YEAR LATER**

--"Ok," Rachel announced as she barged into Chandler and Monica's apartment, "I have to know, what's going on with you guys?"

Monica only paused slightly in her task of folding towels before asking, "What are you talking about?"

"You and Chandler! Joey and Phoebe! You guys are keeping something from me! From me **and** from Ross!"

Monica forced a laugh. "You're paranoid. No one is keeping anything from anyone."

"Monica," she countered, "I hear things, ok? I hear the ends of hushed conversations when I enter the room. I see the knowing glances you guys all share."

Shaking her head, she said, "Honestly, Rach, I have no idea what you are talking about."

Rachel took in a deep breath she seemed to hold before blurting out, "Chandler **is** Santa Claus, isn't he?"

Monica startled, her mouth dropping open, but before she could say anything in response, Chandler appeared before them both, an ear-to-ear grin taking over his face. The significance of her husband's actions wasn't lost on her.

Stepping back, not out of fear but out of surprise, Rachel asked him, "How did you do that?"

His smile never faltered. "You already know."

With a smile beginning to appear, Rachel announced, "I want in."

A nod was his answer as he reached his hand out. "Believe it's possible, and take my hand, and I will show you."

She glanced at Monica, seeing the genuine expression of happiness on her face before reaching out and grasping Chandler's hand. "I think I'm about to be amazed," she whispered, and he squeezed her hand a little tighter in response.

"Don't let go," he told her, then, before Monica's eyes, they disappeared.

*****

--"I had someone monitoring both her **and** Ross," Chandler explained as Monica buzzed about, getting ready for bed. "As soon as she hit 50%, I was at the ready. She was **so** excited."

"And in everyone's excitement," Monica asked as she slipped into bed, "Did we forget to ask-?"

"No," he said quickly, cutting her off. "I asked." His hand came to rest on her swollen belly as he snuggled up against her. "A lot of women have used the Silaer while pregnant, and no harm ever came to them, or their unborn children."

"So, then, it's safe?"

"Perfectly safe," he assured her, pulling her closer to him.

"Does Rachel know she'll be in charge of shopping?" she asked, changing the subject back.

He chuckled. "Yeah, I think she was more excited about **that** than anything."

"Yeah, well," she laughed, "The woman **does** love to shop."

"Phoebe was giving her the final tour before orientation when I left," he added.

"That's good," she mumbled around a yawn; they both fell into a comfortable silence before she muttered, "One down, Ross to go."

THE END 

Ok, folks, that's it. I could have made it longer, but originally, I had only meant for this story to be about two or three chapters. Just a short little Christmas story, ya'know? But now with Christmas over, it's time to move on with other stories.

I liked how this turned out, and I hope you do as well. Please, leave a review and tell me your thoughts.

MTLBYAKY


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